


Loose Wires

by Dorkinatrix



Category: Hiveswap, Homestuck
Genre: Amputee, Cute, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Lemon, One Shot, Romance, Sex, Slice of Life, Tentacle, adult, guy butt, relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-07 10:24:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17364227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dorkinatrix/pseuds/Dorkinatrix
Summary: Vriska uses her engineering skills to repair Tavros’ damaged and sparking robot legs.  Hurt/comfort fetish fluff.  Rated M for inappropriate touching and descriptions of alien genitalia.





	Loose Wires

Your name is Vriska Serket…and your palm husk is ringing. You take the electronic device out of your pocket and read the text message that has just been sent to you. It reads as follows:

“uUUUHH,,,,,vRISKA?”

You recognize the orange text and annoying typing quirk as belonging to your sometimes friend; sometimes lover, Tavros Nitram. He’s a lame-o, low blood, man child, who you used to LARP with. However, you’ve known each other for a long time, and you have a long and sordid history. He’s irrationally, emotionally dependant on you in a way that a troll aught not to be, but you suppose you’ve grown to pity him in a way. As much as you hate to admit it, you have grown reluctantly fond of him. Other trolls come and go, but Tavros is the only constant in your adult life. Not that you’d ever openly acknowledge that. If the other trolls on this ship knew that this dorky low blood loser was the only friend you had left, they’d probably all laugh themselves into a coma at your expense.

You type a reply quickly with two grey thumbs. You use your typing quirk and your signature blue font:

“What, Tav8s?” 

He replies quickly in the same orange font:

“uUUUUUUHHHHH,,,,jEGUS,,,,,uUUUUHHH,,,,uM,,,,I dON’T KNOW HOW TO ASK YOU THIS,,,,i kIND OF NEED YOUR HELP,,,,cOME TO MY RESPITE BLOCK, PLEASE?”

You consider leaving him hanging for a few minutes (or hours) just to make him nervous. You know, just to remind him how much cooler you are than him, and how lucky he is that you would bother to answer his texts at all. But then you get to wondering what he needs your help with, and you get a little curious…maybe even little worried. Is he injured?, a stupid little voice in your head that you can’t control frets. If he is, Alternia’s military would probably have him culled rather than spend a single credit keeping him alive. You hate yourself for it, but you end up replying to his awkward request for help as fast as your thumbs can type with an almost instantaneous:

“Alright. 8n my way.”

Jegus, when did you become so lame? 

You walk down one of the ship’s corridors and to the low blood barracks, past metal doors with orange symbols printed on them. These are the respite blocks of bronze blood soldiers. You find the door to Tavros’ respite block, the one with his symbol on it, and knock. 

You hear the clanking of rusty gears as the ill-cared-for door rolls open. Tavros is standing on the other side of it, looking hunched and uncomfortable. A few beads of bronze sweat roll down his grey forehead, and he runs a grey hand through his black Mohawk nervously. As a greeting, he flashes you a pained smile, that’s all, sharp, awkward under bite. It’s really more of an exhausted grimace. You step inside. The door rolls shut behind you.

“Uhhh….oww….ouch…,” Tavros moans. 

This tiny, military issued, low blood, respite block is too small for him and his large, bull-like horns nearly scrape the ceiling of it. His hulking frame limps past you. Then, past a large, orange recooperacoon, and a computer desk littered with what can only be described as far too many Feduspawn and Pupa Pan action figures for a grown-ass man to have displayed in his respite block. 

He flops down face-first on the ratty, broken sofa, with a lot of rips in it and moans again.

“Uuuhh…I uh…I didn’t want to bother you with this but it’s just….” 

“Just what?” you mutter with irritation. He’s flushing bronze and not looking you in the eye.

“Uuuhhh….just my prosthetics. They got a little banged up during training. Then they started to uh…glitch a little bit uuuhhh…and feel heavy and painful, and then sometimes they uuhhh….they electrocute me…if I sit down weird or something,” Tavros tells you nervously. He’s wringing his hands together a little bit, probably expecting you to make fun of him. “But the thing is they’re uuuhhhh…they’re droid technology just like your metal arm, Vriska…and I was thinking since…uhh…since you have the same kind of prosthetic as me and also a little of the blue blood engineer training…I was thinking maybe you could help…”

“Equius is more qualified for this sort of thing than I am,” you point out.

“Uuuhh…yeah, but Equius is kind of like uhh…really important and stuff now. He’s got a lot of droids and weapons to repair that are pretty important…and I’m uh…I’m pretty not important I guess, so I’ve been on his waiting list like a really long time,” Tavros says.

“Like, how long a time?” you ask.

“I put the request for repairs in about three months ago,” Tavros says. “Uuhh…but my legs get more sparky and glitchy the longer I wait…and it uhh…it really hurts. Can you please just do a little maintenance on then?”

“You know I’ve got too many irons in the fire to be bothered by this bull crap, right?” you say, in a teasing voice. Then, you make a performance of scoffing indifferently and turning to leave.

“Please, Vriska. Please?” Tavros shouts after you in a pleading voice. You can hear the pain in his trollish rasp. “It hurts so bad! I can’t take it anymore!”

You turn around and walk back over to him. Your fanged mouth curls into a teasing grin and you say: “Well, I do like the begging.”

“Uhh…please, Vriska, can you just take a look at them?” Tavros implores again, shivering slightly. His cheeks are still flushed bright orange.

“I guess I’ll see what I can do,” you say with a shrug and a superior smirk. “Take your pants off. I’ll get my tools.”

You go back to your respite block and fetch your tool box. You return to Tavros’ respite block with the tools in hand, to find him sprawled out face first on the ragged, puke-orange couch. He’s removed his pants and is laying their in his underwear. You can see that his robotic legs have a lot of dents and scratches in them from soldier’s training. The metal prosthetics are attached to his inch-long grey stumps with ringlets of bolts. Around this area, you notice some loose and sparking wires. Then, you eyes wander up to muscular curve of his scantily clad buttocks. His blush deepens and he murmurs self-consciously:

“Uuhhhhh…..you’re looking at my butt, aren’t you?”

“So, what if I am?”

“Uuuhhh…oww…these metal legs are hell on my glutes.”

Remembering your own prosthetic appendage, you feel a sudden pang of sympathy for Tavros. When your robot arm get’s damaged and sparks up, it’s hell on the muscles in your shoulder. But you’ve repaired your own arm more times than you can count and you’re confident that you can do the same for Tavros’ legs. It just happens that you are extremely qualified for this particular task. 

You sit down on the floor, next to the couch where Tavros is lying, and get to work unscrewing the blots that connect the robotic appendages to his short stumps. His boxers get in the way of your work. You quickly get frustrated with them and pull them off. As you do that, his body ceases up and he whimpers nervously, clearly embarrassed.

“You’re a dork,” you tell him and then you resume your work, noting as you do so that his bare, grey rump is covered in orangey electrical burns.

He whimpers and yelps and flinches as you prod at the loose wires, poking out around his thighs. You’re getting a little uncomfortable on the floor, so you get up and sit on the couch, then, invite him to drape his body over your lap. He agrees timidly and does what he’s told, though he’s clearly still pretty embarrassed about it.

You remove the metal legs to see how they’re connected to his stumps and discover that a few of the wires have been ripped loose. A battery pack sparks up as you attempt to unscrew it and look inside. Tavros flinches and cries out in pain, as the electricity overrides his nervous system sending him into a spasm. You get shocked too, but you’re not such a little wiggler about it.

“Ughhh…ow…owww…,” Tavros moans pitifully. “It hurts, Vriska….It hurts so bad…”

“Don’t be such a pupa,” you chide. 

“Uhhh….owww…I wanna stop now…”

“I can fix this,” you assure him. “Just hold on a little longer.”

You reach out and pat one of his trembling shoulders. He exhales slowly and relaxes a little bit. You run your grey hand down the curve of his muscular back, and then pat his grey rump lovingly. He sighs in a reluctantly contented way and says:

“Uuhh…that feels kinda’ good.”

You grin mysteriously and say:

“You want me to give you a booty massage, when I’m done fixing your legs?”

“Uuuhhh…I usually wouldn’t want to bother you with something like that but uhhh…It hurts pretty bad my muscles are pretty sore…”

You are familiar with the soreness that he’s experiencing, it’s the same unbearable, screaming pain that you used to get when the muscles in your shoulder cramped around your robotic arm. But that was before you figured out how to repair it properly, and before your made it a point to manage your disability by acquiring some damn excellent masseuse skills. 

You replace the battery pack in Tavros’ leg and screw the metal casing back over the battery. You rip out some of the damaged wires and solder in new ones. You check the metal hinges at the joints, to make sure they’re not rusty. Then, you clean them thoroughly with a cloth and lubricate them with a little oil. Using your abrasive metal polisher, you buff out some of the lighter dents and scratches. 

You rub a little ointment on Tavros’ singed stumps and then re-connect the prosthetics. You tighten the ringlets of bolts that connect the appendages to what are left of his thighs. Then you check if the ceil is tight. There seems to be no blood, oil, or seepage. 

“How does the connection feel? Are the legs back online?” you ask him, when you are satisfied that the appendages have been reconnected satisfactorily. 

“Uuhhh…what?” Tavros murmurs in reply, clearly confused by your engineer’s jargon.

You groan and dumb it down a little for him: “Can you feel your toes?”

“Yeah. Uhhh…well, not really feel the way my skin does…but I can tell that they’re there and that they’re uhhhh….touching something.”

“Yeah, that’s what I meant. What you’re feeling is my hand,” you tell him, running your hand experimentally up and down the length of his metal legs. “Can you feel your legs all the way up to the thigh?”

“Yeah,” he replies.

“Alright, good. Try lifting your right leg,” you instruct.

Tavros lifts his right leg slightly. 

“Now, try lifting your right.”

Tavros lifts his left leg in the same way.

“Ok, they seem to be working,” you tell him. “How do they feel?”

“Uhh…they feel pretty ok, I guess. Uhhh…I’m still pretty burned and sore though.”

“Yeah, cry me a river,” you dismiss sarcastically. “Now, try standing on them and walking in a circle.”

Tavros lifts himself out of your lap slowly, and then stands up cautiously. He’s still naked from the waist down and blushing furiously, but it’s nothing you haven’t seen before. You don’t know why he has to be so weird about it. He cups a grey hand over his bronze bulge and takes an experimental step forward. You watch as he strolls around the room. The pained grimace on his face is still there but the corners of his mouth lift slightly and he grins in a cautious, timid way.

“Hey, this is a lot better…” he tells you sounding cheerful. “Uh…thanks, Vriska.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Blar, blar. You know I’m just awesome like that,” you reply with a dismissive flick of your robotic wrist.  
Tavros bends down to pick his boxers off the floor, groaning with pain as he does so.

“Yeah, I guess you are,” he says, and even though you’re currently staring at his big grey ass, you can hear the grin in his voice clearly. 

“What you do you mean, ‘you guess’?”

“Uuuhhhh…I mean…that you are absolutely awesome uhh…all the time…and that I never had any doubt about that,” Tavros replies awkwardly.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought you just said,” you say as you watch him whimper and moan and struggle to dress himself. The elastic on his underpants brushes his sore behind and he flinches. You smile, despite yourself. Your involuntary affection for Tavros is an exploitable sign of weakness and the secret source of some very trollish self-loathing. It has been for some time. 

Before he can pull his underpants back on, you find yourself, lovingly smoothing the burn ointment over his damaged backside. He sighs with relief and allows you to continue.

“Feel better?” 

“Uuhhh…yeah. That feels good…”

You sit back down on the couch and Tavros slumps over your lap in a way that is foolishly trusting, perhaps remembering your previous offer to massage his sore glutes. For a moment, an involuntary pang of guilt washes over you. You did this to him. It was years ago when you were dumber and more murdery but it was still you. You took his legs away in a violent fit of teenage bloodlust. You made him a paraplegic. 

Now he’s sprawled over your lap with his eyes closed, bare-rumped and emotionally vulnerable. This is a level of trust that you didn’t earn and don’t deserve. You know he must be in a lot of pain to take this kind of a risk with you, because you’ve teased him mercilessly for far less.

Don’t worry, Tavy, the stupid little voice in your head that you can’t control murmurs, without your permission. I’m going to take some of that pain away. You attempt to drown that stupid little voice out the way you usually do, by listening to the smart, loud voices. You know, the awesome bloodthirsty ones. The ones that have kept you alive for this long. But you find that in this instance, you lack the will power to combat your true feelings.

Overcome by powerful wave of red affection for Tavros, you pet his back gently with your metal hand. You dip your flesh hand into the jar of burn ointment, and then smooth some over the electrical burns on his grey bottom. He exhales nervously. You apply gentle pressure to his tense, hard, cramping muscles. He sighs contentedly, letting out a little groan of pain from time to time. You press you finger tips down into his squishy globes and work the hamstrings. 

You’re quiet for awhile as you work. You can feel the cramping muscles begin to loosen up under your fingertips. You can hear him rough, heavy breathing, his little groans and whimpers of contentment. His rump feels soft and pleasant, so you squish it in both of your hands very selfishly, possessively even. He giggles like you’re tickling him. And you hate yourself for it, but you’re sound of his laughter makes you feel so warm and good inside that you want to scream, and then kiss his face over and over again, and then call him a big, massive dork, and then kiss him again with all of your tongue. 

For a moment you’re overcome by an insane urge to announce that you love him. But you end up not doing that because it’ll make you look stupid and weak. And also because, DUH, obviously you do.

It’s a cruel world, filled with violent idiots, callous warmongers, and blood thirsty sociopaths. Tavros is the only friend you have left in it. The thought of being with out him, as much as you hate to admit it, is absolutely, soul-crushingly devastating. For a moment you wonder what might have happened if he hadn’t told you that he was having this problem with his legs (death by government execution due to practical uselessness, most likely), and the thought starts to really piss you off. This feeling prompts you to shout out of nowhere: 

“So, why did you wait so damn long to tell me about your prosthetics malfunctioning? You didn’t have to let it get this bad, dummy!”

Your harsh tone causes him to flinch and sputter nervously:

“Uuhhhhh….oh…oh m-man…I j-just didn’t uuuhhhhh…..I didn’t want to uuhhhh….bother you with it, I guess?”

You know he’s full of shit. Obviously he didn’t tell you about it because he thought that you might take it as an opportunity to laugh at his expense. He wasn’t wrong to entertain this type of apprehension of course. You have been known to indulge in that sort of behavior. Given your sordid track record with him, you know you have no right to be pissed off about him not telling you sooner. Yet, look at that, you still are. Dumb as it is, you’re pissed as hell that he’d risk being culled rather than ask for your help with this.

“Well, I think somebody deserves a genius of the year award,” you mutter sarcastically as you apply a fresh coat of ointment to his orangey burns. “He’s you’re award you fuckin’ genious, an ass full of electrical burns!”

“Stop making fun of me, Vriska. This really hurts!”

“Well, next time some shit like this happens, you better tell me about it right away. And don’t wait three months!” you yell at him. The demand doesn’t come out the way had you intended it to. You sound patronizing and authoritarian like a high blood talking down to a troll of a much lower caste, which you guess is kind of what’s actually happening here. But damn it, you didn’t want it to sound that way. 

“Uuuhhh…oh man, I’m sorry, Vriska. I should have told you right away…uhhh….next time I will, I promise,” he answers meekly. There’s something sweetly remorseful in his faltering voice that makes you believe him. It’s more than just a troll of a much lower caste displaying culturally appropriate difference to a high blood military officer. There’s some affection in his voice too. He thinks he can trust you now. He wants to trust you.

“Good, I don’t want you to ever get this glitchy and burned up again, ok?” you tell him.

“O-ok, I promise next time I’ll tell you,” Tavros assures you again. “…But uhhhh….only….uuuhhhhhh….only if you promise to be uuhhh…to be a nice Vriska…and uhh…treat me nice like this.”

“Oh blar, you’re so lame,” you mutter, “All right, fine. I promise I’ll be nice.”

With some effort you resist the urge to add “you big wuss” to the end of that sentence. He sighs contentedly. You can hear the grin in his voice and feel the palpable red affection for you radiating off of him. 

You squish his big grey rump gently with your fingers, and put a little bit of pressure on the muscles underneath. You move the soft flesh lumps in your hands, squeeze them a little bit and then move your hands up to his lower back. He grunts with pleasure as you press down on his spine. A thought occurs to you and you grin mischievously.

“Hey, Tavros?”

“Uh…yeah?”

“Are you burned on your front too?”

“Uhhh…I kinda’ am…yeah…I didn’t want uuhhh…bother you about that, since I’m kinda’ lame and not that important and uhhh…have wasted enough of your time already,” Tavros says.

“Yeah, yeah, blar, blar, blar, and the self-loathing shit again,” you chide dismissively. “Turn over and let me boo-boos.”

Obediently, Tavros rolls onto his back and let’s you gaze upon his thoroughly electrocuted groin. There’s burns on his grey hips, his testicles, and his bronze tentacle of a penis. The penis part is coiled up in a sad little pain spiral, like it’s trying to hug itself. Just looking at it makes you sad.

“Wow, this looks really bad, Tavros,” you say, “How the hell did you live with this for so long? Can you even still fill a bucket?”

“Well…uhh…it didn’t hurt that much at first. But then it hurt worse and worse the longer I waited…so I’d cry when I was in here alone uhh…and put ice on my crotch… uuuhhhh….but I kept thinking Equius would get around to doing the repairs…uhhhh…not that I blame him or anything. I know he’s a really important guy,” Tavros says.

“Sure, ‘important guy.’ Ha! You mean that he’s a really stuck-up, sweaty, dumb, seed flap,” you correct angrily.

Tavros laughs and says: “Uhh…sure, I guess that’s also true.”

You smooth a little burn ointment over his singed hips. He shivers and moans as you rub a generous amount of the ointment onto his testicles and then cup them in the palm of your hand.

“Ouch…ow,” Tavros yelps as you move his testicles in your hand.

“Am I hurting you?”

“No…uuhhhh….I’m just pretty uhh…sore….keep going please…it feels good.”

You grin as you apply a line of ointment to his coiled tentacle. The cool feeling of the cream against his sensitive reproductive organ makes him flinch. Your grin broadens and you reach down between his legs, coiling your grey fingers around his tentacle. You move your hand up and down a few times to work out the coil. His tentacle flips around a little bit as you play with it. You glance up at his face, and notice the big stupid grin he’s currently wearing. All of his sharp teeth are on display. You increase the speed of you furious fondling. He bites his lip as though trying as hard as he can to not make any stupid, undignified noises. You look back down at his bulge, it’s squiggling and flopping and twitching in your hand, growing longer, harder, and a brighter shade of orange as it fills with blood. He gasps and whimpers and then blurts out:

“Uh…I think I need a bucket!”

“Why not get a little messy?” You say with a smirk, tightening your grip on his pulsating tentacle.

“…I uh…I still need to make my monthly genetic contribution to uuhhh…Alternia’s mother grub….” Tavros explains lamely.

“Ugh…you mean you haven’t already done that?” you groan with annoyance. 

Of course he hasn’t. He’s been a little busy getting his crotch electrocuted by those glitchy legs. 

“There’s uh…there’s a buck bucket under the couch probably…,” he tells you.

You know very well that he punishment for failing to make one’s monthly genetic contribution is death. So you don’t argue with him too much. You push him off of your lap. Then, curse a little bit as you get down on your hands and knees in front of the couch and feel around for the bucket on the floor. You find it and pull it out from under the couch then get back up and resume your previous position, sitting on the couch with Tavros sprawled across you lap. 

The shipping label on the bucket’s peeling a little bit and the print’s a little faded, but you can see that the address is to one of Alternia’s many nursery planets. You pull the lid off the bucket and as you do so you briefly wonder what the hell “genetic material” does and why in the world the jade bloods need it to run their nursery planets. Rose, an alien girl you used to know, once proposed a theory that the jades live in “a state of perpetual pregnancy.” But you don’t know what “pregnancy” is and alien girls are idiots. 

As you’re thinking about all of this and being totally clueless about the way that your own species reproduces, you shove Tavros’ tentacle into the top of the bucket and start aggressively pumping it. He moans and shivers in a very loud undignified way as his pleasure mounts. His bronze tentacle coils around your hand and squeezes it hard. You squeeze back with the full strength of all of your grey fingers and he gasps with pleasure, ejaculating his orange seed into the bucket. As he’s climaxing, you squeeze him like you’re milking a hoofbeast and he squirts a golden waterfall of genetic material, which quickly fills the bucket. 

Tavros exhales in a satisfied way and he grins, showing all of his sharp teeth again. He’s staring up at the ceiling of the respite block with a glazed-over expression. It appears as though, for the moment, at least, he’s completely forgotten the pain of his injuries. 

You snap the lid back on the bucket and put it down on the floor. Tavros turns himself over. His ass must still be hurting him because he props himself up on his knees instead of sitting, as he nuzzles into you and kisses your neck again and again. Despite yourself, you can’t help but smile and giggle a little bit. You can feel his hot breath against your skin, and you can hear the uncharacteristic flirtatiousness in his deep, faltering voice as he murmurs quietly in your ear:

“That you, Vriska…I uhh…I feel a lot better now.”

His big hands creep under your shirt and start cupping your breasts possessively.

“Hey, Tavros?” you inquire quizzically. You’re still thinking about the shipping label on that military issued bucket and wondering what the hell will be done with Tavros’ bronze mess when it gets to the nursery planet. 

“Uh, yeah?”

“What do you think the Alternian government does with genetic material when you mail it to them?”

“Uhh…I dunno…probably uhhh…they make some kind of an art project with it maybe?” Tavros theorizes curelessly.

“Rose Lalond used to say they use it to make the jades proginant…presdant…I don’t remember the word exactly. It was something like that…something with a pr…probably,” you say. The alien word is at the tip of your tongue but you don’t have an ear for that sort of thing. “I think it’s…some kind of an alien thing? I don’t know, I thought maybe you might know something about it. You’re into that alien culture nerd junk, aren’t you?”

“Uhh..yeah…,” Tavros affirms proudly. “I know all of the alien culture nerd junk. I think that the word that you’re looking for is ‘pregnant.’ And it’s uuhhh…well, uhh..actually, stuff written about it is always heavily redacted on Alternian servers. But uuhhh…from what I’ve been able to read…it’s uh…it’s called ‘pregnant’ and it’s some kind of a soup that the humans eat on holidays…and if they don’t eat the soup then the fat man in the red suit named Jegus Christ…uhhhhhh….he won’t leave them presents under a cone-shaped spikey tree…and then uhhh…I guess instead…if they don’t eat the soup…like if they forget or something…they have to summon him with black magic instead…and I guess uh…that’s really inconvenient and stuff, so it’s easier to just remember the soup. I think there’s like uhhhhhhhh….a bird called ‘a stork’ in the soup and that those are probably pretty hard to find.” 

Tavros looks pretty proud of himself for knowing something about the humans that you didn’t. He’s always been pretty proud of his wealth of alien culture knowledge, and you have to say, you weren’t expecting him to know that much about the mysterious thing that the humans call “pregnancy.” Usually when Tavros thinks he knows about things he just starting babbling about a bunch of idiotic wriggler tales and misnomers, then goes off on a massive, mixed-up tangent about something completely unrelated and comes off sounding like a massive retard. You don’t know if it’s his big hand sliding the front of your pants, or his bristly chin nuzzling the side of your neck as he whispers your name again and again, but right now you think it’s pretty safe to assume that humans are dumb and Tavros is smart. Well, maybe not as smart as you, but to be fair, you’re a freakin’ genius. 

“Oh, crap!” Tavros shouts all of a sudden. His stands up abruptly and runs a grey hand through his Mohawk nervously. He must have noticed the time, because he starts pacing the room and his forehead starts to bead with orange sweat. “Uhh…I’m late for training!”

You glance at the screen of Tavros’ laptop and note the time. He’s right, of course, he is very late for daily low blood combat training exercises. This doesn’t concern you much because you’re a high blood officer and your job is the stroll around the ship, bossing people around. However, Tavros has a knack for being late to things and it’s not uncommon for trolls of a caste of yellow or lower to subjected to harsh physical disciple as a penalty for latenesses and other minor infractions. So you’ve made a point to keep track of the stupid low blood training schedule for him. Damn it, with everything that was going on between you two, you somehow pulled a Tavros and completely forgot.

For someone who’s late, Tavros is moving pretty slow. He’s clearly reluctant to leave the respite block and head out to the training deck. And you know why. He probably expects to get hit when he arrives. He looks pretty scared and is wringing his hands together nervously; avoiding your gaze again. It makes you pretty pissed off to think that some stupid green blood squad captain, who you outrank, might smack Tavros around today, fuck up his prosthetics again, make him cry in front of those psycho bronze soldiers, and undo all of your good work.

You don’t like the way that Tavros is dragging his feet, procrastinating a little bit here and there, checking the time on his computer again, watering a dead plant, checking your scalp for space ticks. You know that the later he is for training, the more likely it is that he’ll get the shit kicked out of him when he arrives. 

“Tavros will you hurry up already? If you miss it entirely they’ll probably have you culled!” you shout in exasperation after awhile. 

“Uh…right, right…I’m going, I’m going,” Tavros says, inching closer to the door of the respite block.

“Now, Tavros,” you mutter with frustration.

“Uuuhhhh….,” Tavros murmurs fearfully, eyeing the door of the respite block with apprehension and then he admits pathetically: “I…I can’t! I’m too scared!”

“Get out of here, you derpy wuss!”

The corners of Tavros’ yellow eyes well up with orange tears and he bites his lip. His tendency to cry like that when he gets yelled at is yet another unfortunate attribute of his that might result in him getting killed on this ship. As a high blood officer it’s probably your responsibility to smack him upside the head and tell him to suck it up, but given his current state of distress, you’re not sure that you can bring yourself to do this. Moved by another involuntary spasm of red affection for him, you stroll over to him and give him a hug. You embrace him for a few long moments, then you kiss him on the lips. Then you kiss him again with an open mouth and all of your tongue. He kisses you back and runs his large grey hands through your long runner of wild black hair. You break the kiss and then whisper in his ear:

“Be brave, ok?”

Then, you release him from the embrace.

“Uhh…ok, I’ll…uh…I’ll try, Vriska,” he reassures you awkwardly, while glancing down at his feet. He looks back up at you and forces the frightened look off of his face. Then, flashes you a nervous grin and a thumbs up.

As he turns to leave, you think about that stupid green blood squad captain again. You think about the last time that Tavros was late for training, and how he came knocking at your respite block with bloody stripes on his back, and bronze tears running down his face, because the squad captain beat him in front of the other bronze soldiers. Then, of course, while he was getting hit, he cried and the other bronze soldiers pointed and laughed at him until they had laughed themselves out. 

“Wait, Tavros,” you say, just before he steps out the door. He turns back around and looks at you. “I’ve got an idea.”

“Uhhh…what’s your idea?” he asks.

You beckon him toward you and whisper it in his ear.

…

You walk with Tavros back to the training deck, making a point to pretend like you’re pissed off. Tavros trails behind you submissively, with his head inclined and his hands folded. Overall, you’re pretty pleased with his performance. You were a little afraid he wouldn’t be able to pull it off. 

You suppose it’s a good thing that you’ve kept the nature of your relationship with Tavros a relative secret, because otherwise, this plan would never have worked so well. The other trolls on this ship have no clue that you’ve been harboring red feelings for Tavros and they’re not at all suspicious of you. You reprimand Tavros loudly and he apologizes, inclining his head in acknowledgment of your superior rank. A few passing trolls smirk as they watch you, anticipating blood shed, with sadistic glee.

You grab Tavros by one pointed eat and pull him toward the training deck, where a few dozen massive bronze blood soldiers are lined up, doing pushups and warm up exercises. A green blood with a clip board and a whip, stands over them glowering, and shouting at them to move faster. You’ve heard Kanaya and other jades studying to serve under the mother grub say that bronze bloods are bread for combat and menial physical labor. You can see what they were talking here displayed in the demeanor and physical attributes of the bronze blood soldiers on this ship. Most of them are big and muscular and loud and brutish with massive horns. The one’s in this room are all yelling at each other, and hitting each other and ramming their huge horns against the walls. You can see a few of them hooting at a startled band of rust blooded custodians (who tend to be pretty shrimpy) throwing their trash and empty cans at them, and calling them “gutter bloods.” Tavros is pretty big, but some of these bronze blood guys (and girls) are even bigger than he is and they’re a rowdy bunch, very well suited to the role of their menial caste. It’s not surprising to you that a timid guy like Tavros doesn’t fit in. 

You pretend to drag Tavros by the ear as you approach the green blooded squad captain. The squad captain looks at you quizzically and taps his whip against his wrist husk to indicate the time. A massive bronze blood woman with body builder arms as thick as barrels shouts tauntingly:

“Tavros is the worst! He cries like a rust!”

“Back in line, you!” the green blood squad captain shouts her down nastily, brandishing his whip in her direction. He turns back toward you Tavros, then addresses Tavros in an authoritarian, patronizing way:

“Tavros, you’re late. You know my policy about lateness. Take your shirt off and put your hands against the wall.”

Tavros eyes the squad captain’s whip fearfully and then murmurs an almost tearful:

“Y-yes, sir.”

The other bronze bloods laugh and hoot and jeer at him. It makes you want to run in a clockwise circle around the room and smack them all upside the head. Tavros blushes deep bronze and stares that floor.

“Uh, excuse you, green,” you growl, staring the squad captain down. “Are you just going to stand there and ignore me like I’m a shit stain on the wall? I’m your superior.”

“Ah, yes, I apologize, you are Blood Admiral Serket, am I correct?” the green blood inquires politely, bowing his head to you in submission.

“That’s me, and don’t you ever fucking forget it,” you assert, getting in his face. He takes a step back. You release Tavros’ ear and make a show of pushing him aggressively. Tavros pretends to stumble backward but it’s not very convincing. “Do you know what your fucking bronze did? Huh, huh?”

“What?” the green blood inquires indifferently, skeptically even.

“The big dumb asshole bumped into me this morning and made me spill my grub juice all over my reports! So you know what I had to do, I had to wad them up and make him EAT THEM!” you shout. The bronze soldiers seem to be buying your performance. They cheer loudly at the idea of Tavros being forced to eat your reports. But the green blood still looks skeptical. He sits there quietly and watches you like you’re a fascinating car accident. “Then I beat him to within an inch of his life and made him alphabetize my socks, and he kept telling me, ‘no, stop, I’m going to be late to training!’ But of course I didn’t stop--because it’s more important for these low bloods to learn to respect their betters than it is for them to do literally anything else, as I’m sure someone in your position is well aware.”

“Sure, sure,” the green blood agrees passively.

“Anyway, that’s why he was late. Because I was punishing him…so, uh, I guess there’s no point in him getting two beatings. I think he’s learned his lesson,” you finish lamely.

The green blood sees through your silly charade. You can see it in his eyes. And it’s pissing you off. He sighs in an exhausted way and mutters tiredly:

“Is that true, Tavros? Did you learn your lesson?”

“Uuhhh…y-yes sir!” Tavros stutters fearfully, still eyeing the green blood’s whip with apprehension. 

“Alright, fine, whatever. Get back in line, then,” the green blood sighs in exasperation.

“Uhh..yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir, and thank you,” Tavros sputters politely.

“Tavros, shut up and get back in line,” the green blood says again, more forcefully this time.

Obediently, Tavros joins the other bronze bloods in their warm up activities. You watch him for a few minutes, very pleased with your craftsmanship. The robot legs seem to be working perfectly, so well in fact that if you didn’t know he was wearing prosthetics, you could never have guessed it. Maybe it’s dumb for you to linger and watch him do, push up and squats with the legs that you so lovingly repaired for him. Maybe it makes what you’re doing here that much more obvious. But you don’t care. There’s no reason for you to care. Because you’re the highest ranking troll in this entire room and there’s not a damn thing that anyone here can do about it. If you want to watch Tavros do push ups and squats with the legs that you repaired then that’s your prerogative. 

You linger for a short time and ogle the object of your red affection. The green blood is very on to you and very annoyed that you haven’t left yet, but you find it easy to ignore his passive aggressive dirty looks. You’re too busy looking at Tavros to even really notice them that much. 

You can’t help but notice that Tavros is really fucking cute, all hard muscles and brutish bronze soldier good looks. The way he’s lifting weights and throwing javelins on the training flied, you’d never guess that he was such a big dork. But he is a big dork. He’s your big dork. And you love him. As much as you can’t stand yourself for it, you can’t help but love him.

Content that you’ve made a big enough fool of yourself for one day, you exit the training field, but before you do, you take one last look at Tavros. He’s grinning from ear to ear, and seeing him so functional and happy makes you feel so warm and good that you want call out his name and shout that you love him, right in front of everybody, like some kind of a huge asshole. But you don’t do that. Because you have principals, damn it. Instead you resolve to tell Tavros that his javelin throws totally suck when you see him later that day. They don’t of course, but you think it’s pretty funny when he gets all insecure about dumb crap like that.


End file.
